


High and Unwise

by RetroactiveCon



Category: Smash (TV)
Genre: Bad Decisions, Drugs, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21632611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RetroactiveCon/pseuds/RetroactiveCon
Summary: “Oh no!” Kyle recoils so sharply he almost falls off the edge of the sofa. He catches himself with a hand on their coffee table, babbling, “No, no, I am not doing drugs with you. We have work—I have work tomorrow. I am not, I can’t…I’m not doing this.” Throughout all of this, his eyes keep returning nervously to Jimmy’s outstretched hand. He’s tempted, no matter how hard he’s trying to tell himself he isn’t.
Relationships: Kyle Bishop/Jimmy Collins
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	High and Unwise

Jimmy isn’t completely high out of his mind by the time Kyle gets home, but he’s getting there. Thankfully, Kyle has enough experience not to roll his eyes too obviously when Jimmy calls out to him. “Heyyy, Kyle!” 

“Hey, Jimmy.” Kyle deposits three paper bags of groceries on the kitchen counter and immediately launches into putting away the frozen stuff. Jimmy wanders over to him, half-anticipating the familiar remonstrance: “Can you please keep your weed-smell away from the food?”

“Yep,” he sings out, popping the ‘p’. Agreeably, he wanders back over to the sofa and watches Kyle tuck a bag of chicken nuggets into the freezer. (They’re adults, really. Sometimes. Not all the time.) “Kyle, man, it’s making me tense just looking at you.” 

“It was _not_ a good day, okay?” Even his voice is tense. He’s always wound tight, but this is worse than usual. “Work was hell, thank God you weren’t there, and the self-check at the grocery store is a nightmare, if not for that I would have been home half an hour ago…”

“Kyle!” Jimmy takes another hit. When he laughs, smoke comes out his nose. “You need to take a fucking break.”

Kyle brandishes a tub of ice cream. That’s unusual—they seldom if ever buy sweets. If Kyle bought ice cream, he must be in a foul mood. “Frozen food, Jimmy. We can’t afford to let it spoil.”

“Okay, but the other stuff will keep.” Jimmy rests his chin on the back of the sofa. “Get the frozen stuff put away and then come over here. We can compose shitty lyrics to go with this song I’ve had in my head all day.”

He can see Kyle’s internal debate from halfway across the flat. It might be cute if it wasn’t so worrisome. “Jimmy, please, I just want to get the food put away and go to sleep.”

“Nope,” Jimmy proclaims. “If I let you go to sleep like this, you’ll spend the night all tense and whimpery. Do you know you whimper in your sleep when you’re stressed?” Kyle shoots him a look that would be a glare if his eyes were more squinched up. “Yeah, you do. It sounds like there’s a kicked puppy somewhere in the flat.” 

Kyle doesn’t dignify him with a response. Instead, he chucks a bag of frozen vegetables into the freezer and folds up one of the three paper bags. Jimmy sets the joint on the table, gets to his feet, and wanders into the kitchen. “I’m serious,” he says, a sentence completely ruined by the laughter at the edges of his words. “You need to relax. C’mon.” 

Kyle glares at him over his shoulder. Jimmy fits his hands onto Kyle’s narrow little shoulders and starts playfully trying to massage the tension away. “Jimmy…the food…”

“Is any of the rest of that stuff frozen?” When Kyle shakes his head, Jimmy steers him toward the sofa. “Then come here and _relax._ I’m losing my buzz just watching you.” 

Kyle is surprisingly willing to be steered. (Jimmy’s tried pushing him around when he doesn’t want pushed. For such a scrawny guy, he can be utterly immovable when he wants to be.) He sinks down onto the sofa with a sigh that sounds a whole lot like relief. Jimmy flops down beside him, picks up the joint, and takes another hit. On impulse, he thrusts it at Kyle. 

“Oh no!” Kyle recoils so sharply he almost falls off the edge of the sofa. He catches himself with a hand on their coffee table, babbling, “No, no, I am not doing drugs with you. We have work—I have work tomorrow. I am not, I can’t…I’m not doing this.” Throughout all of this, his eyes keep returning nervously to Jimmy’s outstretched hand. He’s tempted, no matter how hard he’s trying to tell himself he isn’t. 

“Come on.” Jimmy is never shy about giving voice to the thoughts Kyle won’t allow himself to think. “You want to. I want you to—you’re so keyed up that _I’m_ exhausted.” 

Hesitantly, Kyle takes the joint from Jimmy’s fingers and raises it to his lips. His first inhalation is slow, like he’s testing; then his eyes go wide and he coughs. “That’s foul!”

Jimmy laughs and takes the joint back. “You’re adorable, you know that?” 

Kyle wheezes, “I hate you,” in between gasps of air. Jimmy’s not sure how much that’s going to help him; he’s close enough to the source that he’s probably just breathing more secondhand smoke. 

To avoid laughing at him any more than he already has, Jimmy takes another hit. He can still feel the warmth of Kyle’s lips on the rolled paper. It’s the next-best thing to a kiss, his brain helpfully supplies, and to his regret, that thought sticks. With his brain still stuck on kissing, he offers, “There’s something else we can try that might make it not so bad.”

Kyle eyes him warily. “‘Something else’ what?” 

Jimmy takes another hit and closes his lips, keeping the smoke trapped in his mouth. Kyle realizes what he’s doing a second too late—Jimmy sees the flash of alarm behind his eyes just before their lips meet. Fear or surprise makes him freeze up. Jimmy cups a hand against his cheek and coaxes him to open up. Kyle gasps, and Jimmy exhales, and the kiss ends. 

“Like that.” Jimmy pulls back. There’s a dreamy, drugged grin spreading across his face—he can feel it, but he can’t stifle it. As first kisses go, that one wasn’t bad. 

A dozen thoughts flit across Kyle’s face in the space of a heartbeat. He half-rises from the sofa before his mouth sets in a determined line and he sits back down. “That wasn’t so bad,” he says. 

Jimmy would have to be a lot higher than he is to miss the request implicit in his too-neutral tone. He wants another kiss. He’s terrified of being hurt, because Jimmy’s high and fickle, but he’s too tired to keep his feelings hidden the way he usually does. (Jimmy wishes he could suddenly be sober so that he could tell Kyle how much he meant that kiss and have him believe it.)

“Want more?” He holds up the joint like he’s not asking whether Kyle wants another kiss. 

“Yes,” Kyle says, his expression still determined. When Jimmy sits forward, Kyle meets him halfway. Jimmy exhales; Kyle inhales. This time, they don’t immediately break apart. 

“Good?” Jimmy asks, hoping Kyle will think he’s talking about the weed and not the kiss. 

“Mhmm.” Kyle’s gaze keeps flitting between Jimmy’s eyes and his lips. This time, when they sit forward, there’s no smoke involved. They kiss until Kyle pushes him away and stumbles to his feet. He’s high—Jimmy can see it in the way he moves—but he’s still wound as tight as a spring. “I should, um. Groceries. And then bed.” 

Reluctantly, Jimmy lets him go. This, he reminds himself, is why he doesn’t trust himself with Kyle—every time he tries to make things right, they go terribly wrong. Probably the best thing he can do is pretend this never happened and let Kyle sort it out as he will. 

That resolution doesn’t make it to the morning. Kyle brushes off his apologies with a tight smile and eyes that won’t quite meet his. “You were high,” he says. “You’d probably have kissed the landlord if he’d walked in. Really, it’s fine.” 

Jimmy nods and forces himself to smile. “Any errands we need to run today, make me a list and I’ll do them. You deserve a day off, man—you’re gonna stress yourself into an early grave.”

Kyle’s smile softens and becomes slightly more genuine. “All right,” he says. “I’ll make you a list. Please actually get it done this time?”

This time? Oh yeah…the rent fiasco. If Jimmy lives to be one hundred, he’ll never outlive the rent fiasco. He’s as confident as he can be when he says, “I promise.”


End file.
